and so we let go of our precious hearts
by wililamherondale
Summary: It hurt to come back and see her grown up. It was a pain so intense in Peter's chest that he almost cried out. "Wendy?"


Peter held his breath as he stood, his toes balancing on the edge of the window frame precariously, watching the flicker of the oil lamp; waiting.

Many had been in the other side of the glass before, but none had been this special.

She'd been his; his Wendy bird.

A quiet, insistent tinkling sound echoed in his ear, but he brushed it off. Five more minutes.

The young woman on the other side was reading, a deep, concentrated look on her face. Reading took her to a place where she was happy - where she could lose herself for those few minutes; the minutes that kept her going for the next few days, reminding her that life wasn't that bad after all, and a little imagination can create entire universes and new emotions, friends for life and an escape.

Most of all, an escape.

Whilst his lips could mouth the word, he daren't say it aloud. If she heard him... He had no clue what he would do.

Why had he even come here? Nothing was going to change in the few minutes he stood outside the window, watching and waiting. From what he could tell, it'd been a few years since their last meeting, much to his dismay. Whilst in Neverland, one could lose track of time quite easily, and the large gap in time hadn't been aided by the fact that Peter had been avoiding this trip ever since the last one.

It _hurt_ to come back and see her grown up. It was a pain so intense in Peter's chest that he almost cried out.

"Wendy?"

His hands flew to his lips, shocked, terrified, but then he realised - the voice was not his.

Instead, it came from inside the house, and Peter instinctively shuffled towards the edge of the window, even though he was mostly out of sight anyway. As he watched, his heart sank.

Tall, dark haired and hesitant, the man who came into the room was watching Wendy carefully, as if trying to decipher how she was feeling. Although it was calculating and concentrated, a hint of worry was sneaking in around the eyes; eyes Peter recognised.

A sigh of relief escaped him, although he cursed himself for it after. What and whom Wendy associated herself with nowadays was not his business.

"Yes, John?"

The book was securely marked and placed on the table in front of her. Despite the years that had passed, she still sat in this room during the evenings, waiting for her youth to creep back and find her again, beckoning her into it's world of temptations. Alas, it never did.

"Wendy-" Again, the man hesitated. "We were just- well, wondering, Michael and I, about- well, about you."

"That's all very well, John," A small smile played on her beautiful lips, "But I do believe that you should tell me if something's bothering you. The sooner you get it off your chest, the better you'll feel."

"Right," The dark haired male nervously pushed his glasses a little higher up his nose, licking his lips and preparing himself, "Well, we were wondering about your situation. Ab- about a husband."

Normally, John Darling was good at keeping a level head; calculating and concentrating were his specialities, and neither of those could be done whilst one was panicking. Therefore, it comes as a surprise that he can get exceptionally nervous around his sister; he blames "childhood incidents" of course, but, you - as the reader - should know, that he's really just scared of her power: her hidden weapon that she never uses.

Peter was the only one who could get it out of her, and even he, the most immature, carefree soul, never dared ask her to inflict it upon anyone.

"A husband, you say?" Wendy's lips weren't so delicate anymore, and were now carefully arranged in a hard, straight line, "Why on Earth would that topic come up in yours and Michael's conversations?"

"Well, Wendy dear, you know that in this society, with all these people, you can't not get married, or at least find s-someone to settle down with-"

"John," Her voice was as taught as a bowstring, arrow nocked and ready to fire at it's next target. "May you leave me alone for a moment, please?"

Peter's sharp eyes still took in John making a polite excuse and hurrying himself out of the room, but that wasn't what they were focused on.

He only said it as a breath, merely a whisper, but she still caught it, her ears trained for the sound.

"Wendy-"

Her head shot up, eyes moving instantly to the window, her feet ready to spring her towards it if need be-

But there was no one there.

Panicking, desperate, Peter let the sensation of the stone wall dig into his skin, mostly as punishment for giving into his temptation.

The dangerous ledge on which he'd been stood had given him an advantage - an advantage that, perhaps, he'd known all along that he would need. As for now, he was lying flat against the wall to the left of the window. As he knew Wendy well, better than he'd like to admit, he was bargaining on her not coming to the window. If she hadn't seen anything, she would convince herself that it was just her imagination; wishful thinking.

He didn't deserve to be with his Wendy anymore. He needed to stop coming to see her.

It was going to be the death of him.

After a reasonable amount of time, Peter slowly beckoned Tinkerbell over, trying to signal to her that they needed to go back to Neverland now. Even as a mischievous fairy who kept all emotions aside, Tink had a feeling that this would be the last visit they made to this house, and knew how much it would ruin the boy in front of her. Whilst he didn't deserve this amount of pain, it was _he_ that had chosen to stay young forever, and that was his own curse, which he would have to figure out the answer to in his own time.

However, as the pair rose into sky, dipping and twirling between the chimney pots, trying to bury their feelings in fun and games, the woman at the window saw the symbolism of her youth, leaving her for the last time.

It was hard to accept, but - just from the extended period of time he'd stayed hidden from her - she realised what was happening.

One final twinkle on the horizon; the end of their meetings.


End file.
